(Student'S Love-Song) Once More The Cauldron Of The Sun Smears The Bookcase With Winy Red, And Here My Page Is, And There My Bed, And The Apple-Tree Shadows Travel Along. Soon Their Intangible Track Will Be Run, And Dusk Grow Strong And They Be Fled. Yes: Now The Boiling Ball Is Gone, And I Have Wasted Another Day . . . But Wasted Wasted, Do I Say? Is It A Waste To Have Imaged One Beyond The Hills There, Who, Anon, My Great Deeds Done Will Be Mine Alway?